


Of Conversations and Stewed Rabbit

by Makalaure



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, Family Dynamics, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 07:19:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3759388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makalaure/pseuds/Makalaure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fingon is not about to let Maglor tell him to stop meeting Maedhros.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Conversations and Stewed Rabbit

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Silmarillion_.

Warnings: profanity, reference to moderate violence.

Of Conversations and Stewed Rabbit  


Findekáno had planned on this being a jolly little trip. He had planned on spending a couple of days alone, hunting in the hills, away from the clamour and the stench of Tirion. He had, above all, planned on avoiding Makalaurë, who had sent him five letters in the past month, imploring to meet him.

He had planned.

Findekáno picked a bit of tree-slime off his forehead, grimacing. The rain had been unexpected and short-lived, lashing down from the blue-grey sky and drenching everything beneath it. A cold, lazy drizzle still fell, dripping onto Findekáno's face. "It's effing _summer_!" he bellowed, as if anyone could hear him, and punched the air. A couple of parrots, startled from his outburst, screeched indignantly and flew away from their branch above him.

He wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, and continued to look for his arrow, which was part of a sturdy set that his mother had given to him for his twentieth begetting day. A while ago he had been aiming one at an unsuspecting rabbit, and an ear-splitting crack of thunder had startled him into losing both his lunch and his arrow. Findekáno son of Nolofinwë, five-and-forty years of age, champion archer, had failed to shoot a still animal. His brothers would not laugh at him, he decided, because they would not hear about this.

Clutching his bow and uttering another curse, he stomped through the thick undergrowth, following the direction in which he had accidentally shot his arrow. A faint rustle to his front made him halt mid-step. He strained his ears for further noise, trying to remain silent. He hoped it was not a predator, but if it was...

He took an arrow from his quiver and strung it loosely in his bow. Another rustle came, louder this time. Findekáno tensed, and slowly pulled back his arrow. He hated to kill for any reason other than eating, but if his life were in danger, he would do so.

"Is anybody there?" came a smooth, deep voice.

Findekáno's jaw went slack. Oh, no. Not here. He pinched himself, hard. Yes, he was awake.

"Findekáno?" said Makalaurë, stepping over a bush and blinking. He was clad in hunting gear, from his thick boots to his green and brown clothes. A dagger hung from his belt. "What are you doing here? You wrote to me saying you were busy." He tucked a stray lock of dark hair behind his ear.

"I _am_ busy," said Findekáno sullenly. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Hunting. I wanted a couple of days to clear my head." He narrowed his eyes. "You could have just said that you didn't want to speak with me."

"Not everyone is as straightforward as you."

Makalaurë shook his head, releasing a long sigh. He raised his fist, in which was Findekáno's arrow. "Is this yours? I found it in the trunk of a tree."

Findekáno took it and slipped it back in his quiver, along with his other arrow. Briefly, he thanked the stars that he had not hurt Makalaurë. If he had, by accident or not, his friendship with Maitimo would not have mattered; Maitimo would have given him a bloody nose. Or at least a severe tongue-lashing. He wasn't sure which was worse.

He tried not to think about what Fëanáro would have done to him.

"Thank you," said Findekáno. "And forgive me. I was..." He trailed off and pinched the bridge of his nose. "My rudeness is inexcusable."

Makalaurë's expression softened. "Never mind," he said. "I know you've been worried. Actually, that's why I've been wanting to talk to you."

"Can it wait for a short while? Let's get out of this forest and catch some food."

"Of course."

Half an hour later they were sitting in an open field. Rabbit stew simmered over a little fire (Findekáno had brought a saucepan with him), and the two cousins munched sweet pink apples that Makalaurë had stowed in his bag. The drizzle had stopped, and a pleasant, earthy smell hung in the air, mingled with the scent of grass and wildflowers.

Makalaurë opened his mouth to speak, but Findekáno cut him off. "Before you say anything, I just want to tell you that I know your father does not approve of the friendship between your brother and me."

The fire crackled, and Makalaurë waited patiently for him to continue.

"I like your brother, Káno. He is my closest friend, and I am not going to stop meeting him or speaking with him because your father bears resentment against mine. I know you are concerned for your brother and for me, and I appreciate that, but I will not cut ties with Maitimo." He crossed his arms over his chest and raised his chin in defiance. He was aware of how childish this gesture was, but could not bring himself to care.

"I was not going to tell you to stop meeting him," said Makalaurë in a pacifying tone.

Findekáno blinked. "Wait. What?"

"You cannot tell me that is why you've been avoiding my letters."

"Well..."

Makalaurë placed a hand over his eyes. "You're an absolute character, Finno. A doodle, a caricature, a cartoon, and no mistake."

"I'm _sorry_ , all right? I owe you."

Makalaurë drew a knee to his chest. "You don't owe me anything." He gazed at the sky, his large, dark-grey eyes pensive. A sparrow flew over their heads, twittering, and Makalaurë smiled and mimicked its call. The sound was so perfect that Findekáno almost grew confused. 

"I wanted to tell you," said Makalaurë, "that I support you. I know you are dear to my brother, and he is dear to me. So if you ever need a subterfuge or an alibi, you can ask me. I just thought that would be silly to write on paper."

"Why? Why would you do that?"

"I love my father, Finno, but even I can tell how ridiculous he can be. And also," Makalaurë said, "I see something in you. Something that is similar to what Maitimo has. A fire, a kind of passion that I cannot reach or know."

Findekáno felt his cheeks grow hot. He was not used to Makalaurë being so openly emotional. Usually, his cousin showed about as much emotion as did a slab of wood. Nonetheless, he found himself replying. "I see something in you as well," he said, meeting Makalaurë's gaze. "A wisdom that neither I nor your brother possess. I think you could use it for the greater good, someday."

Makalaurë smiled. "Let us hope I will not have to. But my family comes first. If Maitimo were to ask me to go against my judgement, I would do so."

"For any reason?"

A pause. "Yes. Any. I do not say that with pride."

"I know you don't."

They were silent for a while. A cool breeze blew past them and ruffled their hair. Silver began to tinge the warm Light. At length Findekáno cleared his throat and said, "I think the rabbit is overdone. We should take it off."

"That hungry, eh?"

"Shut up."

_-finis-_

Notes:

Findekáno - Fingon

Makalaurë - Maglor

Maitimo - Maedhros

Fëanáro - Fëanor

Nolofinwë - Fingolfin


End file.
